


it all seemed so fine until it wasn't.

by gavinsaleks (ohmaggies)



Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fake Character Death, Fake Chop, Falling In Love, M/M, how do u write decent summaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-02-16 13:31:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13054977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmaggies/pseuds/gavinsaleks
Summary: 'The blonde looks nice, and he remembers late nights on stakeouts running his hand through Aleks’ brown hair as he slept. The blonde looks nice, but it's also too harsh a reminder of how long it's been since Aleks went into that house and didn't come back out.And, when James speaks, he sounds wrecked. Words shaking, subtle movements unsure, eyes narrowed at Aleks like he's examining him, or trying to figure out how he came back to life after dying.“You're dead.”'(james and aleks are young and part of a crew but circumstances and accidents tear them apart)





	1. when death called your name

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Tiếng Việt available: [[Vietnamese translation] it all seemed so fine until it wasn't.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16733415) by [higherthan_ (roccketraccoon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roccketraccoon/pseuds/higherthan_)



James gets comfortably used to the space beside him being occupied by Aleksandr, and finds himself turning to look at him sometimes if only to make sure he's still there. It's a commodity he hasn't known in years; the sensation of having someone always there, the closeness, the having a reason to stay.

He receives offers from rival crews looking to expand, and before Aleks he would take a few days to think it over. Then, Aleks is so very suddenly there with him, and he doesn't think about leaving because he knows he'll stay wherever Aleks goes. And, if Aleks wants to stay, James won't entertain the idea of not.

Someone asks if he has ever considered his crew, their warehouse and familiarity, home, and he stumbles over his words for too long. Because, he doesn't know how to say his home is beside him, brown hair tucked into a beanie, one of James’ jumpers big enough that it's swallowing Aleks whole.

They meet through a friend, and Aleks’ voice was low and rough, but he laughed at something James said and it was the brightest thing in every room. James tried to keep his distance-- focus on his work and getting better, but Aleks’ eyes crinkled when he smiled and James knew he was a goner.

Aleks’ hair is slightly longer now, curling around his ears, and his hands shake in his pockets for too long like he doesn't know how to sit still. When they met, he was a small teenager who was a decent shot but an even better pickpocket, and James knows he's capable; just looks at the worry clear in his eyes and his protective instincts kick in.

James almost passes him a gun to will away his nerves, but looks down the balcony at his crew making a deal below, and worries partly about Aleks taking an accidental shot. He's good at what he does, but they all have clumsy days and they can't afford to mess this up. Jordan would kill them, not literally but the threat is enough to put even James in his place.

“Don't have a good feeling about this,” Aleks mutters, running a nervous hand through his dark hair.

Something feels off, James can tell too, but he looks through his scope at the people below. In his ears, he can hear the quickening pace of his heart, and Aleks breathing in a lung full of breath. They're used to the hum and drum of deals, this should be easy and simple, but doubt steals the air around them, and Aleks shifts around like he isn't quite sure what to do.

“They know what they're doing, we've got this,” he tries, hoping his voice is more reassuring than it sounds to him. “We've done this plenty of times before, you know that. What's different this time?”

“Dunno,” Aleks near whimpers, and he looks at his feet, eyes squeezed shut. “Something just-- Just doesn't feel right, James.”

There's voices below, a few belonging to people James has known for years, and his attention is suddenly split between them, and Aleks. Aleks, with the colour stolen from his face, breathing slightly heavier than normal, and he doesn't even have his gun in his hands.

Deals and trades can go wrong at the drop of a hat, literally, and for a fleeting moment, the gravity is stolen from inside James’ stomach. It flips, makes him feel ill, and he knows it's because Aleks, who usually looks composed and sure, has a look on his face like things are about to go very wrong, very soon.

“I think we should go, dude,” Aleks says, voice surprisingly close. James looks up, kneeling, and finds Aleks hovering above him. “I don't know, I don't like this.”

“When do you like anything?” James retorts in good humour, hoping it settles Aleks’ nerves as well as his own. “Give them five minutes, yeah? Then, you still feel bad about this, we tell Jordan the deal is off and we fuckin’ get the fuck out of here.”

Voices are raised, the sound of a gun rattles against a table, and a language James doesn't know suddenly consumes the conversation. Things are escalating, obvious from the sounds and near yells he and Aleks can hear, and for a moment, briefly, James considers leaving.

He could grab Aleks and they could leave; just disappear, go live somewhere safer, start a crew of their own. They've spoken about it in small terms a few times, and Aleks had mostly stared, voice broken and a parody of his usual tone when he'd said yes. James says, 'Let’s leave, come with me,’ and Aleks is scared but doesn't say no.

Except, they don't plan on leaving. They've spoken about it, and James has a list of people on his phone who he can trust to join him. Admittedly, it's a small list, but if he has Aleks, there's not much else he needs. He can't remember becoming this soft, lending Aleks clothes and ruffling his hair, and thinking about them being together for their whole lives, but it happened.

Slowly, over time, Immortal became Aleks, and Nova became James, and James can't remember much in that time but he knows the word love doesn't fit right in his mouth. It feels like cotton at the back of his throat, tears his sentences to pieces, but, he loves Aleks.

Say, they've been through too much for him to not; say, he doesn't say it out loud but Aleks looks at him and he knows he feels the same way. They're friends, and they click so well together that James can't recall what his life was like before Aleks, and isn't sure he wants to.

Behind him, he can hear Aleks shaking his gun in his hands, and the thought of him needing it isn't a good sign.

They've all been shot before, and only a few months ago, it was James who was limping with a bullet embedded in his thigh, Aleks yelling at him for blocking the shot. He thinks about how small Aleks was then, and how it easily could've been a fatal shot, and his blood runs cold through his veins.

“James-- Nova, we need to--”

The ground beneath their feet shakes, and Aleks wraps a hand tight around James’ upper left arm to tug him back. The balcony they're on feels like it might crumble with them standing on it, gunshots ricocheting off the rails, and James lets Aleks drag him into the nearest room near the stairs.

Aleks is silent, hand moving to grab at James’ shoulder, face bleached white with worry, and eyes scanning James for injuries. He's okay, he thinks, but there's a cut on Aleks’ cheek that's starting to bleed, and Aleks has dropped his gun on the floor.

They're used to this, used to getting hurt and dragging each other out of the path of danger, but the look on Aleks’ face is one James hasn't seen before. Eyes wide with worry, lips tight but parted slightly, and face youthful but up close scarred with knowing too much.

Aleks’ hand paused on James’ cheek, finger lightly tracing skin, and James reaches up to grab at Aleks’ wrist and gently pull Aleks’ hand away. Aleks, who looks concerned and worried, and who looks less like a criminal by the second. He's killed people before, been in the room when others were tortured, but he's still young.

“I’m fine, Aleks, I’m--” James whispers, letting his attention drag from drifting over Aleks’ face to settling on his eyes. “It was close, yeah? But I'm good.”

“Fuck,” Aleks offers, and the softness in his features disappears as he pulls away to get his gun.

The sound of fighting pulls their attention to the door, Aleks looking at James who glances back at him. The deal went wrong, _sour_ , and now they have to deal with the consequences of pissing off some very powerful people.

James’ phone goes off in his pocket, vibrating against his thigh, and he reaches to tug it out. It's a message from Jordan, saying they're outside and fighting off the mercenaries, and James and Aleks have five minutes to meet them there or they'll have to leave. They wouldn't leave for good, James knows, but the words are still there on the screen.

_we'll have to leave if you two don't hurry_

“Those fuckers leaving without us?” Aleks asks, concerned wrapped in exhausted rage. “'member what happened last time they did? You got fuckin’ shot, and they came back to find you bleeding out on my good jeans.”

James can tell Aleks is trying to keep in good spirits, though his voice is less confident than he likely wants it to be, and he offers a slight smile in his direction. As long as they get past the front door, it'll be easy sailing; Jordan and the others can hold off the fire and give he and Aleks enough time to make it to the car.

“They won't leave,” he says, and hopes his words are more reassuring than they feel in his mouth. “Got your gun?”

Aleks raises the small pistol in his right hand a gesture that says 'yeah, duh’, with the flicker up of an eyebrow. James nods at him, shakes the hand with his gun in it to show Aleks he has it, and they simultaneously turn to the front door, voices from outside carrying into the room they're in.

“Get ready,” James whispers, and can see from the determined look on Aleks’ face that he might recognise those outside. “We take these fuckers out then bolt for the front door, okay?”

The expression on Aleks’ face is one James has seen before, the downturn of his lips into a frown, the same with his eyebrows, making him look either angry or confused. It's the last thing James remembered after that time he'd taken the bullet in his thigh for Aleks, and similar to how he'd looked at James when James had suggested leaving their current crew for another.

“I don't like this, dude,” Aleks hisses back, his arm shuffling in his oversized jacket revealing the glint of a knife strapped to his hip. “It feels wrong, I can tell.”

The door cuts off whatever Aleks was about to say next, and James fires a round into the doorway, blood splattering the carpet near his feet. It's messy, but not something they'll have to deal with, and he hears Aleks yell something in Russian over the chaos.

One by one, the mercenaries drop to the floor, and James kneels beside them to pat them down. He scavenges bullets for a gun he doesn't currently have, a flare strapped to someone's thigh, and tosses Aleks a bloodied piece of gum.

“That's not funny,” Aleks says, and James winces with a laugh when it's thrown at his shoulder. “No way I'm eating that, get fucked.”

“Such a way with words,” James scoffs, but he can't hide the smirk on his face, even as the ground shakes under him. It feels like it's going to give way any second, and he ignores it for a moment to bask in the warmth of Aleks’ smile, directed at him.

“Shut up.”

Aleks looks shy under James’ gaze, and it's something he'll never tire of seeing. Aleks, hands tucked into pockets save for one holding a gun, hair messy and pushed back from where he's nervously ran his hands through it, the way he is suddenly smaller when James gets a good look at him.

But, Aleks is looking elsewhere, in the distance, eyes glazed over like he's not entirely with himself, and James turns his head to follow Aleks’ line of sight.

“See anything?” James asks, and is met with a loud silence.

James allows himself to look back, catch Aleks’ eye and hold it for a moment, before he pushes himself from where he's kneeling to up off the ground. They all worry, that's a given in this business, when they're living the lifestyle they are, and James flicks his gaze over Aleks in an unspoken 'you okay?’

“I wanna get out to here,” Aleks says, waiting for James to give him a signal that he's ready to leave. “The roof sounds like it's going to cave in any second, man.”

They make their way to the hall, James signalling with his hand for Aleks to follow him, and they dodge the massacre of bodies to the staircase. James hadn't expected this place to be so nice, he'll admit, and it's almost sad to see the place falling apart around them.

“We get older, we get a place like this,” comes Aleks’ voice over James’ shoulder. “Big house, marble floors, a velvet carpet on the stairs-- I'm tired of concrete, James.”

“Marble floors? C’mon,” James retorts back, and the friendly banter is a nice break from what's going on around them. “Thought you were more of a wooden floor guy, fancy a little wood cabin, maybe; a one story place.”

“Nah,” Aleks says, and his grin is evident in his voice. “I'm going big, baby. You can spend some of your millions on a decent house, you fuckin’ cheapskate.”

James laughs, reaching the bottom of the stairs and turning to look at Aleks. He's paused a few steps from the ground floor, gun loose in both his hands, and James knows him well enough to recognise how hesitant he is. There are still gunshots in the distance, and amongst them, James can hear his crew yelling.

But, looking at Aleks brings everything to a standstill.

“I-- You think you'll leave after this? You keep talking about it and this deal went bad, and I wouldn't blame you if you did because this business is shit but--”

“This isn't the time or place for this, Aleksandr.”

“James, I know. I fucking know, man.” And there's a sense of defeat in his words, like he already knew James would shoot him down and he’s not going to even try. “Excuse me for assuming that _maybe_ we could talk about this.”

“Why are you getting mad at me?” James scoffs, smiling incredulously at Aleks. “We're in the middle of something right now, we can't exactly stop and have some kind of fuckin’- fuckin’ discussion about personal problems. Unless you want to get shot, again.”

Aleks stares, and he looks like the Aleks met a few months ago; shuffling his weight awkwardly between legs, eyes suddenly innocent and naive. It makes James’ heart tight in something he knows as guilt.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbles, and Aleks avoids looking at him. “Aleksandr, I--”

An explosion to their right cuts James off mid-sentence, Aleks ducking for cover on the stairs, pressed against the wall. James is tossed to the side, gun slipping from his hands and sliding far enough that he can't be sure where it went.

“Nova!” Aleks, voice deep and gravelly, and far too distant for James to be comfortable with.

Moments pass before James can finally move, body aching from where it hit the ground, sharp and cold against his limbs. His back burns beneath him, and he can hear Aleks trying to shout at him through the smoke and ash blocking their views of each other.

It's reminiscent of heists they've done together in the past, and later they'll laugh about it together in the corner of their warehouse, but for now, a deep kind of worry has embedded itself in James’ mind. A mantra-- _get Aleks, get out_ \-- floats and repeats through his head.

“Here! I'm here!” he yells, knowing it comes out as more of a strangled cough than an attempt to say anything.

A hand startles him, settling on his shoulder, fingers tightening around it. He'd recognise the person anywhere, concern disappearing and immediately being replaced by relief; his phone, funnily enough, buzzes in his pocket and breaks their silence.

“Fuckin’ Christ, James,” Aleks says, then gently scoops a hand under James’ shoulder to help lift him off the ground.

The air is knocked back into James’ lungs, the floor still under his feet, and Aleks clings onto him for almost longer than he needs to. Around them, the smog dissipates, revealing another cut on Aleks’ face, sore and easily noticeable.

“Thanks for saving my ass.”

“Yeah, well, consider it payback for all those times you saved mine,” Aleks laughs, and his features crinkle easily into seriousness when James tries to move and instead winces. “You're hurt?”

He looks five years younger suddenly, still only nearly twenty-one, hair past his ears and messy, and James takes a second to catch his breath. He must look like a wreck in comparison, taller than Aleks and built bigger, hair sweaty and falling out of his beanie.

“Took quite a shot to the fuckin’ ground, think I might've bruised it,” he offers, downplaying the injury more for Aleks’ sake than his own. “Let's just get out of here, this place sucks.”

Aleks was right, before, when he'd been pacing back and forth, and saying they should leave. James should've left with him then, provided cover from outside instead of having to deal with whatever is going on around them. Aleks was right, he's almost always right; James needs to learn to trust his own instincts.

The front door is open, two doors pressed against the wall on either side of them, and James doesn't push Aleks off when he feels his hand settle on the small of his back. He's used to the closeness, and the familiarity of knowing Aleks is there is enough to make him grit his teeth and walk despite the flaring pain in his backside.

“Almost there,” Aleks whispers, gun in his other knocking his thigh. “It's quiet but there could be people hidden and waiting.”

James doesn't question it, and leans into Aleks’ touch, ignoring the small smile Aleks gets at the contact. This is them, alone in the middle of the heist but together; James has thought about what would happen if he ever had to do this without Aleks, and the concept is too harsh to consider.

It's always them, always will be, and he doesn't stop to consider any other alternative.

The company van sits at the end of the driveway, lights on to indicate their crew are waiting for them, and James ignores Aleks pushing him ahead when they hear shouting from inside the house. Aleks’ presence on him is gone, and he slides behind James to look at the door.

“Go for the van, I'll hold 'em off.”

James turns to reach out for him, hand making its target with fingers grasping onto the fabric of Aleks’ shirt. “Are you stupid? We can make the van together if you hurry the fuck up.”

“I got this,” Aleks argues, and there's a tone in his voice that James doesn't recognise. “You're injured, you can barely even walk. I'll shoot at them until you're safe then you can provide cover from the van so I can make it.”

Aleks pauses, and when he takes a few steps back, James lets his hand slide away from where he was holding onto him. He already misses the safety of the inside, with Aleks desperate to leave, and wonders how they went so wrong.

“James,” he says, “do this for me, yeah?”

There's no time to respond, Aleks tossing his beanie aside and running a hand through his thick hair. Then, he's pushing James back with one hand, the other grasping his gun, and James lets himself stumble a few steps as he watches Aleks disappear through the front door of the house.

It's like watching a movie, the way he's left there as Aleks leaves, mentally yelling at himself to do something; do _anything_. He's taken a bullet for Aleks before, thrown himself on top of him as a grenade went off, but he feels so utterly helpless to the fact he can't do anything.

He can't do anything, just stand there while someone comes running up behind him, calling his name. Jordan, trying to pull him back, and James exhales a shaky breath.

“Aleksandr, he-- he went back in, we can't leave him.”

“In there?” Jordan sighs, but his voice indicates that he's more disappointed than he is surprised.

The next thing happens so fast that James can't say anything, only stand there as Jordan pulls him back, uncharacteristically swearing. People always say things go slower when you're in the moment, but James watches his life flash then die before his own eyes.

One minute, the house in intact and there; the next, James hears a shout then an explosion, feet shaking on the rippling ground before what once stood there is gone. Two stories, crumbling, and then there's nothing left but rubble, the lingering smell of explosives, and Jordan and James stood watching.

James doesn't delay the inevitable, heart seizing up in his chest and knees hitting the concrete road harsh. Everything stops for long enough for his brain to catch up on what happened, and his back aches, and everything feels numb as Jordan tries to pull him up.

“James, we need to go. James--”

“Aleksandr!”

Guilt feels like burning, like he's burning from the inside out, and grief feels cold, like numbness and stillness. He hasn't quite figured out which one is worse yet.

.

_\-- four years later._

.

“You still want to recruit someone?”

Trevor is hovering above James, who is sitting on his phone, and for a second, James wants to tell him to go away. They're all tired and bruised, heists these days always ending in injuries and failure, and James doesn't want to need someone to help, but, it was Brett's idea.

“Depends,” James answers, putting his phone down to look at Trevor. He looks tired, they all do, and James makes a mental note to give Trevor some time off. “Got someone in mind?”

They need help, after Aron quit the business and Joe disappeared, and both Jakob and Trevor are too young to constantly be sending into dangerous situations that they might not come out of.

Brett has his issues with it, like he's told James so many times before, and James only partly understands his desire to protect Trevor. They're friends, close, but it always feels like there's something deeper there.

Something James himself doesn't care enough to find out about, either because he's their boss or because he's sure he'll find out eventually. No one around here is all too capable of keeping anything a secret for too long, like when Anna had tried to throw a surprise party for Asher and they'd all known weeks before.

But, they're a loyal group. James keeps them around because they're useful and because he likes them, and it sucks to see people leave but he's always just wanted them to be happy. You either live long enough to leave the business or not long enough for it to kill you.

“An old friend called me,” Trevor answers, slowly, almost like he doesn't want to tell James, “said he's looking for some temporary work and heard about us from another crew. I gave him the address, figured it's worth a shot, right?”

James stares, a hint of disapproval on his face that isn't at all close to his usual anger. Still, his voice is even, and cool enough that he doesn't sound like he's genuinely as annoyed as he feels. “You gave him our address? Didn't think to check with me first?”

“I asked Brett, he said it was cool.”

_Of course._

“Next time, I wanna know,” James says, and he knows he's being gentle with Trevor because the boy is smiling, a little uneasily, but still smiling. “This friend got a name?”

“He wants to introduce himself, make a good impression or whatever.”

Trevor has contacts scattered everywhere, and it doesn't really surprise James that he's been reckless enough to invite someone to their base. He means well, always does, but he can be a little blind to the dangers of certain things; letting a stranger in where they plan heists and work feels like a gamble James isn't going to win.

The two hours pass slowly, James sitting at his desk on edge, and ignores Trevor sliding from his seat and going outside. His friend is meant to show up at any time, leaving James anxious and too occupied to focus on anything he's meant to be doing.

“James!” Trevor calls, turning the corner and tall enough to block whoever's being dragged in behind him. “Come say hi?”

The person with Trevor moves to beside him, a hat backwards on their head, and hair bleached so blonde it's almost white. They don't look as nervous as James feels, stomach churning uneasily, heart beating painfully in his chest when he gets a good look at them.

He would recognise Aleks anywhere; blonde hair and the obvious look of someone who's aged years aside. And, Aleks catches his eye and holds it, a dreadful and uncomfortable silence building between them.

“James?”

Trevor looks confused, understandably so, and Aleks clears his throat like he wants to say something but he instead does nothing. Everything feels wrong, like a sick dream James used to have after Aleks died when he'd wake up and realise Aleks was dead and not coming back.

“You're dead,” he says, and his body feels panicked and too aware of the anxiety he's feeling right now.

Because, James would recognise Aleks anywhere; _anywhere_.


	2. better to have loved and lost.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'No one's truly good at grief, that's what he told himself, and it wouldn't get easier to live without him but it would get easier to think about it. Over time, maybe, because he'd dealt with loss plenty of times in this business, just never one so bad his own heart felt like it was being crushed to pieces in his chest. Like, someone killed Aleks then reached straight into James’ chest and tore his heart out, like the most excruciating pain you can possibly imagine.'

Brett isn't the first person to tell James how dangerous this lifestyle is. He grew up with his finger on the trigger of a gun, and can remember being eighteen and pulling bullet fragments from his own thigh in a dark alley at sunrise. He's been shot three times in his life, and the first time he sees Aleks again could almost count as the fourth.

James knows him when he was younger, all mousy brown hair and a fading accent, and face hidden in hoodies and sweaters. They were younger when they met, and James got too close too fast, in a way he doesn't ever do, and when Aleks died, he almost left this business for good. It's a bad business, dangerous and terrifying, and people die so often, James figures he'd be used to it by now. But, he's not, and isn't entirely sure he ever will be. It's just, not something you can learn to become used to; even after years of living through it.

He doesn't remember much from the day Aleks died, but he knows he didn't get to say a proper goodbye. He knows Aleks had left to buy James time, and the roof caved in on Aleks and James never saw him again. 'Immortal’ was dead, and James recalls months spent in bars being asked quietly by oddly familiar strangers if it was true.

And his own voice, broken, throat burning from vodka, as he had to say it was. The infamous Immortal was dead-- as in, not coming back-- and James couldn't remember his voice or face only a few days later. Everything felt wrong and different, and he felt the same flame of disappointment and sadness tug at him when muscle memory had him turning to make sure Aleks was still beside him.

No one's truly good at grief, that's what he told himself, and it wouldn't get easier to live without him but it would get easier to think about it. Over time, maybe, because he'd dealt with loss plenty of times in this business, just never one so bad his own heart felt like it was being crushed to pieces in his chest. Like, someone killed Aleks then reached straight into James’ chest and tore his heart out, like the most excruciating pain you can possibly imagine.

“He just fucked up,” he would explain, staring at his empty glass, hair tight and painful where he's pulled it back. “Fucked up and didn't come out alive.”

There are moments, little fragments of time where he forgets and reaches out like his hand will he'll find Aleks amongst the sheets on his bed. Or, he'll be in the middle of a heist and turn like Aleks will be beside him, ready to follow at his signal, and his heart will seize up in his chest in that familiar sadness he knows too well when he realises he's alone.

Or, something will happen, like a big day at work, and he'll find himself calling Aleks’ old number just to hear his voice. It stings, but he calls once, then three times, then ten, and Trevor finds him sitting on the floor of the break room staring numbly at the wall. And, he stares until little black dots crowd his vision and Brett is suddenly there, pulling him up, and he's stuck in a moment of grief. Stuck in missing Aleks, in wanting to hear his voice again, and, maybe it doesn't stop hurting, the pain just gets easier to live through.

Trevor sits next to him one day and says, “Speaking of death and people being dead, d’you think this next deal will go bad?”, and James goes cold just thinking about it. He falls asleep every night until the deal, images of Trevor pale and limp, his eyes glazed over with nothingness, and wonders if there's ever going to be a day where he'll go to sleep and rest well. If he'll ever stop seeing all his friends dead when he closes his eyes, and if one day he'll ever be able to say he's outlived every crew he's ever been in.

Brett slaps a collection of papers on his desk and says, “You want to stay alive, James, it's my professional opinion that you sort this out,” and James doesn't look at the file for three days. It sits on his desk, taunting, and when he finally does look at it, he's suddenly too hyper fixated on Brett's words to focus. He'll die one day, no amount of reading can change that, and he slides all the papers into the wastebin next to his desk and calls Aleks’ dead number.

A deal does go wrong, once, and James is back at the office with Jakob waiting for everyone to return with good news. Except, they hear tires skid and a yell, and suddenly, Brett is walking towards them, hair sweaty and glistening, and James stands shakily and pushes past him to outside. Joe, laughing with Anna's bloodied hands pressed to his chest, Trevor with his hand against his mouth like he's going to be sick.

Joe's leaves after that, and they're not sure where he goes but he messages James every few months to let him know he's alive.

They have one close call too many and Brett is pulling James aside and telling him he wants Trevor off the heists, where he's safe, and James knows they can't afford to be down another person in the field but he nods. Looks at Brett and Trevor, and knows he made the right decision saying yes; thinks about Trevor dying, so young, like Aleks, and _knows_.

Brett says they need to recruit someone and James is skeptical but agrees. Anna reviews everyone they consider and shakes her head at all of them, and James says they'll wait for someone to come to them. They just need to give it some time, that's all, and Trevor talks to some people but doesn't come back with any good news.

Until, he corners James at his desk and says he found someone. And James thinks it feels like replacing Joe, like when Jordan found someone to replace Aleks only weeks after he died, but he's more annoyed at Trevor's lack of discretion.

He thinks the worst thing that can happen is they sell their location to a rival crew and said rival crew shows up at their warehouse looking for a fight. A fight that James and his tired crew couldn't win, even at their best, because they're often overnumbered, and none of them are getting any younger. This business is dog eat dog, is survival of the fittest, and he figures them being propositioned by another crew is the worst thing that can happen.

He thinks it's the worst thing that can happen, then Aleks walks straight through his front door.

.

James spent months memorising Aleks’ face when they first met. Whenever they ended up somewhere together and Aleks would fall asleep on James, James would stare at his face and map his features; the curve of his brow, his eyelashes against his skin, the small crinkles in his skin from being forced to grow up too quick. James would know his face anywhere, even though the hair is different and he's older, he's still James’ _Aleks_.

The blonde looks nice, he can't help but think, and he remembers late nights on stakeouts running his hand through Aleks’ brown hair as he slept. The blonde looks nice, but it's also too harsh a reminder of how long it's been since Aleks went into that house and didn't come back out. Since Death called Aleks and took him, and James had to keep going like he wasn't completely wrecked.

And, when he speaks, he sounds wrecked. Words shaking, subtle movements unsure, eyes narrowed at Aleks like he's examining him, or trying to figure out how he came back to life after dying.

“You're dead.”

“I feel pretty alive,” Aleks offers, trying to be humorous but words instead coming out strained. And, he and James ignore Trevor's eyebrows innocently rise up on his forehead, staring at each other and the small distance between them. “Not a ghost or any of that shit.”

James can feel himself get angry, thinking about how it's been almost five years and Aleks didn't even think to _call_ to let him know he's alive. The grief, the drinking, the guilt he felt for years and years, all just feels like it was for nothing. He left his old crew because Aleks died, and he was out of the business for too long after, and he had to deal with death in a way he never had before. And Aleks was alive, the whole time.

“Do you,” James says, teeth gritted, “have any fuckin’ idea,” he steps forward, pushing his palms against Aleks’ chest, “how much you've missed?”

Aleks let's himself get shoved back, albeit with less force than James thought, and there's a moment where James almost wants to forget about everything and hug him. Five years is a long time to carry that baggage around, and to constantly think about everything he could've done in that moment that would've meant Aleks would still be alive. The last few years have been a slow, tedious torture, and James is angry. At Aleks, at everything.

“Fuck, dude,” Aleks says, and his hands move slightly from his side to hover near his chest like he's expecting to get hit again. “I'm sorry, okay? _Fuck_.”

“Sorry, Aleksandr? You were fuckin’ _dead_ , you asshole, and now you're here? And you didn't think to tell me you miraculously came back to life after being killed?” James steps forward, watching the way Aleks, who is now taller, slinks back away from him. “You asshole, man. _I. Thought. You. Were. Dead.”_

James has thought a billion times in a billion different ways about Aleks finding him, and being alive, and how happy he'd be to see him again. So happy he'd cry, or hug him, or grab onto him and never let go. But, dreams are dreams, and thoughts are thoughts, and he knows his anger will soon dissipate and register instead as thankful, but he's finding it a little hard to be thankful right now.

“James?-” Trevor starts, uncertainty and confusion thick in his tone, and James knows he has some explaining to do, as does Aleks, but it feels like that can wait for a moment.

“Aleks and I know each other from a past crew,” James offers, turning his attention off Trevor to look at Aleks, who is staring at his feet. It brings back old memories that James tries to keep down, knowing they'll make him miss Aleks even more, but this time there's no stopping them. “He went by Immortal, and he died. Five years ago. _Saving my fuckin’ life_.”

Aleks bites his bottom lip, a hand moving to run through his already slicked back hair. He looks nervous, or shameful, and though James feels a small pang of guilt for his anger, he can't quite will himself to be gentle. This Aleks is his Aleks but different, because his Aleks would've told him he was alive; he wouldn't have faked his death and left, he wouldn't have. Because, he was James’ friend. Because, James loved him, he did.

Except, now he's not so sure he can handle losing Aleks again. He's mad, so, so pissed, but everything that's happened the past few years is coming back to him and he's missed Aleks so much it still feels like it might ache for his whole life. James missed him, but he's so mad, madder than he can ever remember being before in his whole life.

“You better have a good fucking excuse for this, Aleksandr,” James says loudly, a finger shoved roughly into Aleks chest. “Five years, and I want a good excuse, a reason, for why you had to do that. To yourself, to our crew, man-- to, to me. _Five years._ You made me think you were dead for five years, you asshole.”

“James, can we not do this right now? Fuck, dude.”

“You left,” James manages, voice drifting into complete silence. He's trying to stay brave, keep his eyes focused on Aleks, but even he can hear the crack in his words. Like he's moments away from crying, and maybe he is, and maybe the anger has quickly simmered into self-pity, just for now. “You died, okay? And I didn't know what to do.”

“I don't have a good excuse for this, if that's what you want,” Aleks answers, and it's not what James wanted to hear but he's grateful that Aleks is even saying anything. “I wasn't, like, being hunted down or anything. I didn't have debt or any of that shit, James, I-- I just managed to escape and everyone thought I was dead so I left. I left.”

Trevor clears his throat, and for a second, James thinks he's going to leave them alone, but instead he places a small hand on James’ shoulder. It's warm for the second it's there, and cold the moment it's not, but it's nice to have the brief support, especially from Trevor. He's young, sure, but he's smarter than they all give him credit for, and he's been friends with James for years.

“I promised Aleks I'd give him a tour of the place, d’you mind?” Trevor says, and James mutters a hoarse, “No, man, go ahead,” before he can change his mind.

.

James goes home before he can stop himself.

He’s sitting at his desk with his headphones around his neck, listening to something that was supposed to help him concentrate but only made it so much harder to focus. Then, he’s shutting his stuff off and grabbing his car keys off his desk, and trying his hardest to ignore the concerned look Jakob shoots him from across him. James never goes home early, something about being the boss, but he can hear Aleks talking to Trevor and Brett in Brett’s office and he has to leave.

He has to go, and nothing is enough to stop him, even Aleks calling out to him as he slams the front door to their warehouse behind him. Breathing is easier outside, but considerably less so when he thinks for a moment he’s left his phone inside, then opens his lungs again when he pats his pockets and finds the familiar lump there. He thinks, considering his friend has come back to life after five years, that he’s doing a pretty good job of keeping himself together.

James is the type to explode, to blow up without a timer or warning, then deal with the aftermath later. He wishes he knew how to deal with this, wonders if he ever truly will or if he’ll just keep skirting around Aleks for the rest of his life like he’s not even there. It hurts to think about, and it’s unbearably unrealistic, and James finds the cool concrete wall next to their garage wall cold against his back before he realises he’s sitting against it.

Make it through today, he tells himself. Go home, feed Ein, eat something-- _anything_ \--, and go to sleep. If he can. Go to sleep, if he can, because something about the setting sun and his hands shaking beside him bring to light how hard he’s going to find closing his eyes tonight. It was hard enough after Aleks died, or Aleks let James think he died, and bad enough after Joe was shot, and bad enough when Trevor was worried about the deal, and so, so bad when Brett reminded James of his own mortality.

Everything made him think of Aleks after Aleks died; the people in crowds or bars who looked like him, the sad songs on the radio that James would hurry to change, Trevor, and Brett always trying to save him, old crew members, new crew members, fire, James’ own tired reflection.

He’s not the romantic type, and he wouldn’t admit that he had certain feelings about Aleks when they had first met and even long after that, but it felt like heartbreak. Anna made him watch a movie once and he spent the whole time staring at the floor, feeling Aleks’ lose harder than he could recall at the time, and then, it was hard to pinpoint why that made him think of his late friend. It wasn’t until after, when he was sitting on his kitchen floor with Ein wagging her tail at him, when he realised.

Now, his brain feels like it’s on autopilot, and he’s not sure how he ends up in his car with the keys in the ignition but he does.

And, his phone, ringing in his lap. It’s too bright, too loud, and he wants to collapse against his steering wheel and wake himself up, but he stares at the time and can’t think of anything but the dial tone of Aleks’ old number.

_“This is Aleks’ private number, uh, give me a call back if it’s urgent? If this is James, text me, you asshole.”_

He calls three times, to focus on how different Aleks’ voice sounded when they were young, and he’d say his heart feels like it’s in his throat, but it doesn’t really feel like it’s anywhere. His chest feels empty, and his scalp aches where he’s tied his hair back a little too tight, and he glares at his phone until six, seven minutes go by. He’s handled grief before, he knows it like the back of his hand, but having someone come back, having to get used to them being around again? James doesn’t have experience with that, never figured he would so he’s never thought about it.

His mother has told him a lot, but she’s never told him this.

She’s never mentioned heartbreak so bad your everything feels like it’s been ripped from your chest, or what to do when you love something and it comes back to you even though it’s impossible for it to.

Except, Aleks didn’t come back. He wasn’t ever going to find James and tell him he hadn’t died, and maybe that stings enough that it drags James back to reality for long enough to turn his key in the ignition. They were going to live never knowing, and James was going to die someday hoping to see Aleks on the other side, never knowing, never being told. And Aleks was just going to let him that; he was going to live his life, joining crews, making friends, and never telling James because maybe he didn’t care.

He never cared. But, that truth feels too bitter in James’ mouth for him to believe it. Aleks was always far too gentle with James like he could break him; worrying about him being hurt, asking him sometimes if he was eating and sleeping okay, risking his life the day he “died” to save James’ life because James was an idiot who injured himself.

Everything hurts, even the things that feel like they’re not there anymore, and James wants to go home and see his dog. See Ein and pretend that his life is no different than it was yesterday, and he’ll go to work tomorrow and things will stay the exact same because the thought of having to deal with this makes his head hurt.

_Feed Ein, feed self, sleep. Try not to think about dead friends not being dead._

.

Knocking on his door wakes him early, consistent in time but loud then quiet, like whoever’s on the other side isn’t entirely decided on whether or not they want to be knocking. Beside James, his alarm clock flashes bright green letters, sometime past three in the morning; he can’t remember the last time he was awake so early, other than stakeouts, because getting older has taken its toll.

His jeans are tight on him, a reminder that he forgot to take them off before he slept, and now his legs feel stiff and tired, and his t-shirt is loose off his shoulders. It’s an old one from when he was slightly bigger, but somehow fits better than it did then, and he’s become too attached to it to ever consider getting rid of it. It’s comfortable, even though it has a habit of reminding him of worse times, like Aleks going into a building and not coming out alive even with James yelling out to him.

It takes him at least a minute to slide out of bed, then ten or so seconds to catch his reflection in the dark and remember that Aleks isn’t actually dead. Unless, he’s been dreaming, and Trevor is on the other side of the door to ask why he hasn’t shown up to work since the day before yesterday.

Ein twirls around his legs, excited but yapping nervously, uncertain, and he hushes her away as he reaches for the door. It unlocks in his hand, and he pulls it slightly towards himself to let the lights in the hallway stream in through the small crack, the yellow glow revealing very quickly who’s on the other side of the door. James almost wants to close it, pretend like this isn’t happening and he’s just losing his mind, or some shit that’s more believable than Aleks being alive, but he can’t.

Aleks says, “Hey, uh, can I come in?” and James doesn’t have time to will himself to a fully awake state before he’s stepping aside and listening to his door creak as Aleks lets himself into the apartment.

Aleks gives it a good look in the dark, street lights coming in through weak curtains lights up the few contents of James’ living room, and it looks lonely. James looks at his apartment and his furniture, and in this glow, in this state of tired, early morning, it looks barely lived in. It’s nothing like the place he and Aleks used to have, and James looks at his shelf and has to repress his own sigh when he notices the small picture he keeps on the top shelf. It was Aleks’, from years ago, and it feels like a knife straight to his stomach to see it so mismatched amongst his own possessions.

"No marble floors?”

“What do you want, Aleksandr?” James asks, exhaustion making it even harder to stop himself from saying things harsher than he intends.

His voice is deep and thick with sleep, and he can't remember the last time he slept without having a nightmare, or closed his eyes and didn't see something awful. It's his best sleep in five years, after Aleks died and since James himself was fucked up beyond fixing from the things he'd seen and done. This business doesn't leave much room for being a good person; God, he knows that more than anyone, really.

“I don't know, James,” Aleks admits, and he stares at James’ couch like he's thinking of what to say next. “I wanted to see you, okay?”

“You wanted to fuckin’ _see_ me?” James repeats, and the wind feels like it's tossed from his lungs, a police siren quiet in the distance. “You've had five years to come and see me, Aleksandr. Five years, and you knew I was alive and you didn't fucking bother to come and make sure I was okay. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”

“What about _me?”_

Aleks’ hair is messy, either from the car ride or lack of sleep or he's been running his hair through it, a nervous tic of his he developed on stakeouts. James wishes he didn't care, that he didn't look at the dark circles under Aleks’ eyes and suddenly want to apologise, to drag Aleks into his arms and make things right without words. But, betrayal and abandonment remind him exactly of why he doesn't.

Aleks left, he chose that, and James doesn't have much room left in his heart for pity.

“You could've said you were alive! You could've come out, hands waving, and let us know you hadn't died. You had a chance, and it's not my fault you made the wrong one,” James argues, voice rough, words heavy.

By the couch, Aleks shuffles, and chews his lip anxiously, a hand by his front playing with the fabric of one of James’ cushions. It feels awkward, the air thick and uncomfortable, and James almost wants Aleks to leave so he can call his mum and talk to her. She'd make everything better, she would, and she'd know exactly what to do, which is something James always has trouble figuring out himself.

“You gave you on me,” Aleks says, accusingly, but so soft and sad that James almost doesn't say anything.

“I saw you die, literally right in fuckin’ front of me. How was I supposed to see that and think there was any possible chance you were somehow still alive?”

Silence takes over the rest of the conversation, James staring at Aleks in the paling light of the street lamps outside. They're weak and dull, but not enough so that James can't see Aleks face, pained and wet, and see his own reflection in a mirror hanging near his window. He looks tired, and messy, but there's an uncertain look on his face that he knows as him getting weak. He's weak because of Aleks, always has been, and seeing him alive should make him happy, but instead just breaks his heart.

For not the first time, James has no idea what to do. He wants to reach out and apologise, but that means losing his pride and at the moment, that's the only thing he has. In this light, Aleks is nineteen again, with dark hair and a young face, and James feels the floor creak as he takes a step forward, a hand reaching out to Aleks.

“Aleksandr, I--”

“I should've found you, I know,” comes a quiet reply, a small, choked sob following the words. “But I didn't know what to do, James. And when I finally found you, you had all moved on and everything seemed fine, and I had no idea if I could even fit in the puzzle anymore, y’know?”

James feels Aleks still under his touch, and under his thin shirt, Aleks’ skin is cold. He probably walked here, James thinks; got the address off Trevor and walked however far to James’ place to talk to him. Guilt tightens his chest, and he curls his fingers around Aleks’ shoulder, ignoring the way his own eyes burn.

“I wanted you alive,” James manages. “You died, man, and it felt like the worst fucking thing in the world had happened. It was terrible, you have no idea how fuckin’ _awful_ it was having to deal with Jordan and the others, and they couldn't even recover your body so we could--”

He eyes burn, and breaths feel more like helpless gulps to stop from crying, but a weak sob breaks the rest of his sentence. James cried when Aleks died, when they were trying to drag him away from the wreckage, and he cried after having nightmares about it, and he still cries sometimes because he misses him. And, they couldn't even bury Aleks.

He died, and they couldn't even drag out his dead body so James could get some kind of closure; so, Aleks’ body was forever sitting under the wreckage of a house and left to rot like an unmarked grave. An unmarked grave that James couldn't even visit, and the thought has him so paralysed that his hand slides off Aleks’ shoulder.

“James?”

There's that familiar tone of concern in Aleks’ voice, and he straightens up to look at James, worry clear in his face. It reminds James of the day Aleks died, or maybe died, or was meant to die, and he barely scrapes together his next words.

“I just wanted you alive, Aleksandr. This whole time, I just wanted you alive,” and his voice breaks, on every word.

Aleks’ face twists into uncertainty, then he steps forward and closes the small distance between them. His arms are loose but safe around James, and James doesn't bother trying to keep his pride anymore, just presses his face into the crook of Aleks’ neck. He's older now, taller and more mature, and James doesn't focus on how much of his life he missed because there's nothing he can do about that.

He focuses instead of Aleks’ hands rubbing soft circles into his back, touch warm and _familiar_ , and presses himself closer. They still have a long way to go, he knows, but he listens to Aleks’ quiet breath whistling next to his ear, and can almost feel Aleks’ heartbeat, and relaxes in his arms.

He's had dreams about this, where Aleks came back and James stumbled into his arms and never let go. But, this is real and enough time has passed that subtle streams of sunlight have begun to cast orange on the walls of James’ apartment. Everything feels insignificant in the early morning, everything except Aleks, and his body pressed against James.

“This real?” James murmurs, just to make sure. His voice is muffled against Aleks’ shirt, but the soft movement in Aleks’ chest as he laughs indicates he heard what James said.

“Yeah, yeah, it sure is, James.”

It seems right, being here, with Aleks, and James doesn't know if he's capable of conjuring the strength to ever part from this embrace. It's unbelievably warm, and unbelievably deserved after so long, and his heart settles comfortably in his chest. No more beating so loud he can hear it, or it choking his throat; it's there, and it's beating along with Aleks’ like it used to.

“You're still an asshole, you know,” James mumbles, tightening his hands in Aleks’ shirt. “Stupid, fucking asshole, making me wait five whole years. I hate you.”

Aleks chuckles again, a pretty sound that reminds James of how lucky he is right now. That the anger and confusion can wait for later, and he can enjoy this closeness and intimacy for right now, for as long as right now lasts. Forever, he hopes, because even though he's tired, it's been a very long time, and he missed Aleks so much being with him aches. It aches in a good way, almost like going home after a really long trip.

James turns his head to rest it on Aleks’ shoulder, a feat that would've been impossible when Aleks was younger and shorter. Now, it's only a mildly awkward position to stand in, but James presses his hands closer and tries to ignore the way Aleks slightly stumbles. James might be physically incapable of letting go, just for a few hours or until Aleks makes him move.

“I know, James,” Aleks whispers, breath warm on James’ ear. “I missed you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all done!! this took an unbelievable amount of time to write/finish writing but it's finally done. i hope you enjoy this as much as I did, thanks for reading ! kudos n comments are always appreciated.
> 
> find me on tumblr @ohgavins .
> 
> \- rachel :))


	3. home / epilogue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'James looks at Aleks looking at their hands, the tender touch, and gets a good look at him for the first time in years. Aleks is dead, his brain reminds him, or he was, and he isn't now, and he might want to leave after this because he barely wanted to come back in the first place. Except, a slight smile plays on Aleks’ lips and James thinks he might stay, hopes he does after all this time. Even if Aleks is older and less the Immortal James used to know, more Aleks than the small kid with his big hoodies and shaggy hair. '
> 
> backstory + epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been thinking about writing this for weeks and so I did? i just couldn't let this au go even though i tried, because their story definitely didn't feel finished and all i wanted for them is happiness!! but i hope you enjoy this, it's 4am and it took me 5ish hrs to get this done so it's not super polished. might be some typos too ! 
> 
> thanks!,  
> rachel.

* * *

 

 

 

Aleks had brown hair when they first met, a small boy on the cusp of teenage years with a soft, young face. His hair was slightly curly at the ends, his amusement always hidden with a frown, his hands always in his pockets. James assumed it was because he was young, but Jordan said something about Aleks being a good pickpocket- like, really good, impressive, even- and James was cautious as always but intrigued. This kid, sitting on the couch in their main room, James’ shithole of a planning workspace a few doors down the hallway to his left, and Jordan introducing Immortal as Immortal stared up at him from where he was sat.

He was wearing a hoodie, James remembers that, and he was tucked so nervously into himself that he looked no bigger than Joe. He was nearly twenty, mousy brown hair long and messy, and his eyebrows narrowed slightly down, his mouth a thin, straight line. There was a dull look behind his eyes that James knew was a characteristic of this business, the way it snuck up on you when you were young and broke you down. Still, Aleks looked young in the face, more than James could say about others younger than him, and it didn't help that his hoodie seemed to be three sizes too big on his frame.

“What do you think, James?” Jordan asked, hands on his hips, red hat hiding his hair, and a pleased smile on his face. He looked proud of himself, almost, and James could barely take his eyes off of the shuffling teenager on their couch to notice Jordan glance at him expectantly, like he expected him to agree that Immortal would be a good addition to their slowly growing crew. He was a good pickpocket, apparently, and knew how to shoot well enough to load and shoot, but something about him was off-putting. How young he was, the fact he wasn't even old enough to drink, so how could they let him risk his life with them. It felt wrong, in a way this business did but never like this.

“We taking babies from their momma's now or something, Jordan? He's twelve!”

Aleks’ face changed, his lips downturned into more of an obvious frown than before, similar to his eyebrows, and it made him seem angry, or confused. James almost wanted to compare him to a dog he'd had as a kid, between the way Immortal was half-smuggled into his jumper, the fabric swallowing him, and his hair thick and soft on his head. Him there, with his emo band boy haircut and his eyes round and brown, seemed younger than James could remember Jordan saying he was; _'he’s twenty, almost, and I want you to be nice to him, James.’_

“Not all of us are old, you know,” Immortal offered, voice low and rough from not being used, and an unmissed glance at Jordan to make his point. In the corner of his eye, James could see Jordan's smile falter, his shoes scuffle together.

“I change my mind,” James said, watching the way Aleks’ eyes flinched close for a second, as if expecting to be turned away. “I like him, let's keep him.”

Jordan was relieved, because James tended to be harder to impress than most, and Aleks laughed. Like, threw his head back a little and opened his mouth to show the slightest hint of teeth, and James has seen a lot of people laugh, vulnerable and honest, but something about it got him. The way Aleks squeezed his eyes shut, crinkling around the sides, and his jumper shook around him as he laughed. And, okay, he was young and probably new to this business, but James couldn't find a good enough reason to tell Jordan no to him. James was a little gone for Aleks before he knew him as more than Immortal, more than a teenaged pickpocket with his hands always tucked into his pockets, more than the constant look of disapproval on his face.

James tried to keep his distance, told himself he would throw himself into his work and helping scope out potential hits, but that was much easier said than done.

Their first sort of official heist with Aleks, he got caught on some kind of spike and tore a sizeable hole through his favourite jumper, inciting a deep, angry, “fuck!” while James watched from a metre or so away. Aleks’ ditched it when they got back to the small office space they used for before and after heists, and the ink on his arms was impressive, and unexpected. He looked good like that, James remembers, and ended up tossing Aleks an old hoodie of his he kept in his office for those 'just in case’ situations. He stared at Aleks, skinny and thin and pale in his t-shirt and jeans, and rationalised that this had to count as a 'just in case’.

Aleks had stared as if he was startled, glaring down at the bundle of fabric sitting in his hand, and then lifted his head, expression unreadable. James got used to that, the ‘Aleks never saying what he meant or wanted’, and Aleks moved his hand slightly to indicate to the piece in his hand, voice quiet when he said, “uh, thanks.” It was too big for him around his shoulders and elsewhere, because he was so small it almost hurt to imagine how easy it would be for someone to swing at him and break him in half, but the hoodie fit. It ruffled his hair in an endearing way, left James sitting on a chair in the corner staring, unable to look away even though he tried.

That same hoodie would nearly end up with a bullet hole in it months later, after Aleks had started spending most of his days glued to James’ side, through shooting practice and before heists, and during heists. James tried, really did, to keep his distance, knowing well that getting too close to anyone in this career- if it could be called that, lifestyle sounded more accurate- always ended badly.

People left the business, or got hurt, or found something else or weren't heard from again. In more extreme situations, they died; James figured that's how he'd go, blown up or shot, in some kind of heroic blaze of glory. Other days, he thought about cutting his losses and going back home to his mother, before she had to get news secondhand that he'd die. Sometimes, he remembered that Jordan had outlived the last crew he was in, and James wondered if history really was doomed to repeat, if eventually they'd all die and Jordan would start over again.

James was never exactly selfish, but he'd let members of his crew be shot before. It was never fatal, but a bullet in their shoulder or their thigh, and him standing somewhere close enough to see but unable to leap forward and save them or take it for them. Until, Aleks, with his brown hair in need of a cut and James’ hoodie on and unzipped, tight jeans and thin shirt showing how small he really was. In comparison to James, Jordan and Dan, he seemed so young and delicate, and James was standing across from him trying not to think about everything that could go wrong when they went to a negotiation with another local crew.

Aleks caught him watching and stared back, unblinking, and James fought back a smile in return, waited for Jordan to say Aleks’ name and draw him back into the conversation.

Every time Jordan saw them together, or caught James staring at Aleks from the other side of a room, he always looked like he knew something they didn't. Maybe he did, James thought, or maybe he was just more surprised that there was a side to James that wasn't yelling and breaking things when he was angry; that he leant Aleks his clothes and ruffled his hair, and sometimes found himself staring at Aleks without even knowing he'd been doing it. That didn't have to mean anything, it really didn't, and James knew that.  

“I'll go this way with Aron,” Jordan said, pointing to a map of the buildings. “We'll handle the negotiations while Joe waits in the van and does surveillance. James and Aleks, you think you can handle being backup?”

“Yeah,” Aleks answered, making eye-contact with James for a few moments to make sure. “So, are we taking guns or are we like, just throwing ourselves in there to be shot at?”

James blanked out of the conversation, letting Aleks argue with Jordan for a couple minutes before they had to get all their stuff from the van with Joe and make their way into the building. The crew was supposed to waiting in there already, unarmed but with guards, and though Jordan tended to prefer dealing with things like this with as little violence as possible, he'd be stupid to not be cautious, at least.

James tossed Aleks his gun, watched him slide it into the waistband of his black pants before zipping up his- _James’_ \- jacket. There was something mesmerising about the way he moved, careful and calculated but clumsy, still. With his hands moving too fast for his brain to keep up with, his foot tapping on the floor without him knowing he was even doing it; James was used to all of it now, but he wasn't used to getting used to anything like this. He especially wasn't prepared to be standing there in the deserted parking lot of a rival crew's place and thinking about how willing he would be to do this for the rest of his life, as long as Aleks was there too.

The thought made him hesitant, unnerved. Had him running his hand through his short, freshly cut hair a hundred times a minute, because it had only been hours ago he had been thinking about going home to his mother. Not permanently, probably, but at least for a few days, or weeks if she wanted and he could get the time off when Jordan didn't need him for a heist. Then, Aleks was at his side, like they had a natural gravitational pull and he couldn't help it, and James was suddenly trying to remember how he'd gotten this attached. There was something about Aleks, long brown hair and oversized sweaters, and the way he laughed when he found something really funny. He couldn't leave that, not without knowing it wouldn't be the last time he saw Aleks.

Getting attached, liking someone too much, is how James ended up with a bullet wound and blood pooling beneath him, and Aleks’ panicked “James!” in his ears. It was stuck in his thigh, painful, and Aleks curled his hands in the front of the jacket James was wearing, voice sounding far away and distant as he yelled, “That was for me!” He was upset, words choked and confused, but his expression made him look angry at James for taking the shot, hair falling in his face and lips parted like he wanted to say more.

James remembers managing a feeble, “You're welcome, Aleksandr,” while Aleks got closer to him, the usual dead blankness in his eyes turned into worry, bright and clenching at James’ heart when he saw. Aleks moved, tore his gaze from James, and yelled for Jordan on the floor beneath him, words sounding raw and out of breath from his throat. The bullet hurt, a lot, but James thought about how small and fragile Aleks was, how easily someone could break him in half with one hit, and even with his teeth gritted and Aleks’ hands covered in his blood, couldn't find it in himself to regret pushing Aleks out of the way.

Aleks was mad at him for weeks after, the kind of angry where he avoided him at any cost, and purposefully pushed him out of the way when James was standing in a doorway. But, Aleks gave up on it after thirteen days, going up to James when they were finally alone and putting both his hands on James’ chest to push him back. He was trying to look annoyed, but James knew better, knew it was his way of saying he was worried and James shouldn't have done it.

Aleks shoved, pushed, and James grabbed both his wrists in his hands, stared as Aleks panted, his hair wet and in his face from the rain. His face softened, twisted instead into upset, and James watched him waiting for him to speak first, or try to push him over again. He would've let it happen, he would've, and he stumbled a bit as is and felt the muscles in his thigh scream with the effort. Getting shot hurt, but dealing with the occasional pain afterwards wasn't much easier, until James realised Aleks could be dealing with this instead or he could be dead, and suddenly everything seemed a little easier to handle.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Aleks choked, looked at James’ hands curled tight enough around his wrists to keep him in place, but not too tight that he couldn't pull them away and storm out if he wanted. “Seriously, what the fuck were you thinking, James?”

“That if was you, or it was me,” James said, and felt Aleks relax from the way his arms got heavier in James’ grasp. “So, I chose me, Aleksandr.”

“That wasn't up to you to decide,” Aleks countered, finally made eye-contact with James, his face pale and his eyes red.

James knew better than to focus on Aleks’ anger, had already heard the stories from Jordan of how upset and worried Aleks had been, and not once had James stopped to question the reliability. He knew Aleks was worried, because if Aleks had been shot, he would've been worried about him. That was how they worked, how you were supposed to be when someone you were close to get injured, especially in this life they were living. James had been worried, that's why he did it, and he'd heard the sound of a gun click back and his only thought process had been to save Aleks. So, naturally, he had; glanced at Aleks with his brown hair curled around his ears, his tongue slightly poking out as he tried to unjam his gun, and moved from his hiding place to shield him before he could think about it.

After getting shot, Jordan mostly gave James streak out missions, an unspoken 'because I don't want something like that to happen again’ between them, and Aleks was always there, too. They'd sit in a car or a room in a building across from the person or place they were staking out, and Aleks would settle his gun next to him, bring his knees up to his chest, and watch out the window. And James would sit across from him, spread his legs out in front of him, and watch Aleks. The first time they staked out somewhere, Aleks stayed awake all night, and James wondered if it was him trying to look out for James after everything that had happened.

Once they'd done it a few times, they'd resorted to sleeping in turns, and Aleks would settle in next to James and fall asleep with his head on him. James would stare at Aleks’ face, focus on how pretty and peaceful he looked, and focus on memorising his face in case there ever came a time when he needed to recall it. Aleks’ features were less crinkled in his sleep, his eyebrows slightly curled but not in their usual way, his eyelashes dark against the pale of his cheeks, and the small indents and marks in his skin from being forced to grow up too quick.

On those days, James would brush a finger across Aleks forehead to sweep the hair from his forehead, short and soft curls that hide his face. The first few days, he was hesitant to sleep, apologised when he woke up nearly in James’ lap, but after a while, he'd intentionally lay close before he fell asleep. James got used to the warmth, the having Aleks there and his body pressed to his, and wasn't sure if this something friends weren't meant to do. Mostly, before Aleks, James did stake outs with Joe, and they'd play games on their phone and laugh at things they remembered from high school. That was friendship, this with Aleks was something James was still trying to find a name for.

James has preferred to call someone his friend, because that felt more honest and genuine than using a word he wasn't sure he meant. Except, Aleks fell asleep close, the beanie on his head loose and sliding off where his cheek was pressed to James’ shoulder, and James couldn't find another word for that. Aleks, always close enough to touch, a constant in James’ life that he couldn't imagine waking up and finding gone. He could see it reflected in Aleks’ eyes, the thankfulness that he was there, the way neither of them needed to say it for it to be real, for James to feel it and know it.

Aleks, fingers softly pressed in a half-fist in his sleep, resting in his lap, and his left index finger on his thigh curled around James’ thumb. It was so soft it was barely there, just enough that James stared at it for minutes at a time, heart beating fast, before leaning his own head on Aleks’. His voice, unused and thick with sleep, terrified: “I love you, you dumb shit.”

Words that should've felt like James’ world cracking around him, should've made him so scared he pushed a sleeping Aleks away because there was no way this was okay, that this was allowed. But, nothing seemed any different, not even when James heard a soft breath from his comms and remembered Joe was monitoring them. Not when he heard his _best friend,_ tired but kind, tell him he could sleep if he wanted, as long as he left his device on so Joe could get in contact in an emergency. James could hear the smile in Joe's voice, could feel the heat in his own cheeks, and thanked him. For letting him sleep and for not saying something about his confession to a sleeping Aleks.

Aleks, who James loved, pressed against him as James tried to sleep, focused on Aleks’ breathing and his finger twitching around him.

“You have to stop doing that,” Jordan would say, James halfway through his lunch as Aleks laughed at something with Aron, eyes squeezed shut. Again, when Jordan gave him the plans to a heist and James was too occupied with Aleks a few metres away to listen to what Jordan was trying to say. It was lucky people were too wrapped up in their own things to notice, everyone but Jordan who was anything but tactile as he told James that he _couldn't_. Standing above where James was sitting, looking down at him, a pitiful smile, and: “You know you can't, James.”

A few weeks later, James hair slightly longer in his face, frizzy from the rain, and Aleks small in front of him. James saying, “Let's leave, Aleksandr! Let's just go, you and me. We could- we could fucking go, forget about all this. Let's just go, okay? Come with me.” And, Aleks frowning, eyebrows downturned, his hands reaching out to softly settle on James’ forearms, confusion thick in his voice as he said, “What the fuck are you talking about?” But, James already knew Aleks would go anywhere with him, and vice versa, and he'd stay for as long as Aleks needed but they needed to get out. Go anywhere, live normal lives or start a new crew, _anything_.

Things were going right for once, with the money between all of them to get a bigger, nicer place, and a few bigger heists going better than good, and James and Aleks planning to leave, and things were looking up. Until, a negotiation gone bad, a back injury, a van too far away for them to run to without getting shot at, Aleks and his warm, pleading smile, and a building collapsing on the closest thing to love James has ever know.

And, grief so bad it felt like it was ripping James apart from the inside, so bad he paid Aleks’ phone bills for years just to be able to call him and hear his voice, and text him on the bad days despite knowing he wouldn't reply.

Then, Aleks, blonde but familiar, walking right through James’ door.

 _Aleks_ -

.

“James?”

The sun is bright outside, painting the slight dark of James’ bedroom in orange and pinks, bringing his attention to the man hovering over him. Aleks’ hair is tousled with sleep, his eyes tired and the bags underneath purple, and James wakes up enough to notice the hand Aleks has settled on his shoulder. The blanket is on the floor, something James realises when he goes to pull it up over himself, and Aleks gets closer, breath warm in the cold.

“Sounded like a nightmare,” he says, voice a parody of a whisper in the near silence of morning. “I was just going to let you sleep, but, uh- you said my name, so I figured I should probably wake you up. Are you okay?”

There's something like guilt in his words, the shirt from earlier still on but the lack of a blanket showing his legs covered in a pair of James’ old pants instead of the jeans he arrived in. He looks tired but good in the light, and James doesn't need to check the time to know he's only been asleep for twenty minutes, at most. Nightmares suck, but they're worse when he's alone and stuck in them, when his dead friend who usually plagues his dreams is suddenly alive to shake him awake.

Ein is sleeping at the end of the bed, oblivious, and Aleks glances in her direction when he catches James looking at her. Part of James wants- needs- to reach a hand out and tug at Aleks’ hair just to make sure he's really there, not some kind of illusion or fever dream or hopeful hallucination. So, he does, and reaches his hand to pull Aleks’ hand from his shoulder, tangles their fingers together and smiles soft at the way Aleks stares like he's surprised.

“You get dreams like that a lot?” Aleks asks, quiet, and squeezes James’ hand once. “I do, sometimes, if that helps or whatever. Mostly about dying, like actually dying, you know. It's pretty shit, gotta admit.”

James looks at Aleks looking at their hands, the tender touch, and gets a good look at him for the first time in years. Aleks is dead, his brain reminds him, or he was, and he isn't now, and he might want to leave after this because he barely wanted to come back in the first place. Except, a slight smile plays on Aleks’ lips and James thinks he might stay, hopes he does after all this time. Even if Aleks is older and less the Immortal James used to know, more Aleks than the small kid with his big hoodies and shaggy hair. He's different, but it's a good look for him.

This Aleks, with his blonde hair and a small lingering of facial hair, flicks his eyes up to James curiously, waiting for a reply. Their hands are warm, Aleks is wearing a pair of James' pants, James can't breathe for long enough for him to think about how unreal this is. James of years ago, of three weeks ago even, would die at the idea of Aleks being alive, bigger and grown up but still managing to look small and young in James’ bed. James used to love him, the nearly twenty-one Aleks who was worth the trouble, worth admitting he loved him because James really did. _Does_. Maybe that'll have to be a work in progress, the feelings thing.

“Yeah, a little,” James admits, swallows the phantom burn in his throat. “A lot of dreams about my friends dying, like Trevor or Brett. After everything, I guess that's just normal though, huh? Nightmares about all this, and things that happened in the past that I can't seem to let go of, and-”

“You dream about me?” Aleks asks, and his voice, as well as his hand in James’, shakes.

Part of James wants to say of course he does, because he can't recall the last time he didn't lie down to sleep and got distracted with his thoughts. Every night, about Aleks’ body abandoned under rubble, and James drinking himself to sleep for months after, turning up to work with Jordan in the same clothes he was wearing two days ago. So, yeah, of course he dreamt about Aleks. For almost a year it was all he could think about, with Joe and Aron pulling him this way and that, all of them trying to grieve in their own little ways. Remembering it hurts, how James couldn't do anything to save Aleks, how he let down someone he loved.

“What do you want me to say, Aleksandr?” he says, and there's an edge to his voice that he almost wants to wish away. “Of fucking course I dreamt about you, asshole. You _died_.”

Aleks inhales sharply, an unintentional whistle passing his lips, and he looks genuinely sorry, his words breaking as he says, “That's fair, I guess I just kinda expected you to move on, you know? After I died, I thought maybe you'd leave Jordan and do well for yourself, and you wouldn't need me. Which, you didn't, dude. You did fine on your own, I'm proud of you for that, and I am sorry.” He closes his eyes, and James doesn't need to look to picture how he looks, can recall every detail of his face almost exactly. “You were grieving me, James, how was I supposed to tell you I was alive?”

“I was fuckin’ in love with you, man,” James spills. It's an accident, brought on by Aleks’ fingers dancing with his and the sun filtering through the blonde of Aleks’ hair, and James really was in love with him. He was going to tell him, eventually, but he never got the chance. But, now, Aleks is warm and vulnerable, and it reminds James too much of them huddled together during a stakeout. It hurts, just in his heart, and he says it not because he's not thinking, but because he's thinking too much.

“What?” Aleks whispers, confusion clear on his half-awake features. After a few seconds the words settle in, and he's ducking his head and laughing, a light, breathy sound that James has missed.

“Yeah, dude,” James says, because he doesn't know how else to respond. How to say Aleks died right when James had realised he was in love with him, and his heart felt so broken he thought he might die. It feels different now, in good and bad ways, and James lets his hand go limp against the mattress when Aleks releases it, drops his head into his hands.

It's well into early morning, James’ alarm probably an hour away from going on, and he's awake in bed with Aleks sitting next to him. There have been worst days, where he couldn't drag himself from his bed no matter how hard he tried, or the times after someone died or left and Trevor would show up to make sure he was fed and they'd watch a movie, and James would hurt his back sleeping on his couch when Trevor left. Some days were definitely worse than others, and James is still deciding where this day stands on a list of best to worst.

“That's why you wanted to leave?”

James inhales, let's his breath go as he manages to say, “Guess so. Jordan knew, because he's an observant asshole, but I couldn't like you like that. Not with him around. There were other reasons, obviously, but everything I did was for you, Aleksandr. Everything. Then you died and I was fucked up for a long time, and I still don't know what you're really doing here. Being friends with Trevor, looking for a job, if you're probably going to up and leave next fucking chance you get.”

“James, I-” he replies, and shuffles close. He looks more familiar than he did at a distance, and if he wasn't blonde, he wouldn't look any different from Immortal. He's aged, but not as much as James would've expected out of three years, with his voice the same and his face, and his touch just as delicate and shy as James remembers. “Dude, I'm not going anywhere.”

James wants to believe him, he does, but too many people have promised him things and not followed through, and the idea of waking up one day and Aleks being gone again would be ten times worse than that. It'd feel wrong, now that he's back and James is so quickly getting used to him being here with him, in his bedroom and in his life. He's been through this before, something similar, except James watched Aleks go in somewhere and he never came back out. Finding out he left by choice, just packed his shit and moved on, might kill James more than knowing he didn't bother to find him.

“Prove it,” James offers shakily.

Aleks stares, and stares some more, then the palm of his hand is pressed warmly to James’ cheek, tickled against his beard. This is not familiar, but it seems right in ways James can't describe, not when his eyes have adjusted more to the small amount of light and can see Aleks’ face light up as he moves in, presses close then pauses inches away from James’ face. James nearly goes cross-eyed trying to look at him, but Aleks tilts his head and instead touches their foreheads together, and James closes his eyes almost instinctively.

“I loved you, too,” Aleks whispers, and James’ heart beats so fast he wonders if Aleks can hear it. “If it makes it any better, I really loved you, James.”

“Shut up-”

“I did,” Aleks cuts him off, lifts his head to brush their noses together ever so slightly then moves back, let's James lift a hand to grab softly at the front of Aleks’ shirt as he leans over him. “I really loved you, and I would've followed you anywhere if you asked. You saved my life and that's when I knew why I so worried about something happening to you, and I thought maybe distancing myself would make it easier but it didn't. I couldn't just, not love you.”

Aleks kisses James, James’ head pushing against the pillow beneath his head, and he's so shocked he can barely move for a moment. He's still against Aleks, who fits so well against James he feels like he was made for him, and his hand is still tight in the front of Aleks’ shirt, mind willing him to move but body unable to. He feels stuck, too caught up on how right it all seems for this to be happening; how the James of many years ago with a crush on a younger Aleks thought about this happening so often that the real thing is a culture shock, almost. James always imagined it being in the middle of a heist, or after, or during a playfight they'd have in James’ room at their small workspace. A moment where they couldn't not kiss, and they would and it wouldn't be perfect but it'd be Aleks so that would be enough.

“James?”

Aleks, pulling away with worried eyes, concerned and looking like maybe he read the signs wrong. James tightens his hand in his shirt and tugs him back in, focuses on Aleks pressing his body tight to James, an unknown sound tugged from his throat that James hasn't heard before from Aleks. He doesn't taste like anything, but he smells like sleep and James’ sheets, and James pushes thoughts of improbability from his head to concentrate on Aleks hovering over him, lips moving clumsily but calculated against James’.

“I love you,” James breathes when Aleks moves away to allow them both to breathe, presses his face into the corner of James’ neck with a shuddery breath. “Like, holy shit, Aleksandr.”

“Yeah?” Aleks laughs, out of breath. “I love you too.”

The day breaks around them, Ein's nails scratching against James floor somewhere in the distance. Nothing ever feels quite right in the morning, and James knows he and Aleks will have to talk about this properly sometime because they've both missed so much, but things are okay for now. James is awake and alive, and Aleks’ touch is so unbelievably warm and loving, his laugh bright against James’ shoulder as James runs a hand through Aleks' hair. Things are perfect, they certainly aren't, but Aleks is alive and happy, and James has imagined this far too many times to suddenly decide he doesn't want it.

So, he twists Aleks’ hair gently in his fingers, thinks about how comfortably heavy his weight is against him. It's beautiful, the sunlight on Aleks, on James’ walls next to him, and he doesn't know how he got so lucky, but he'll take this. This, being Aleks, not dead, and just as in love as James is, and the two of them together and trying to be friends again after all that's happened. Truth be told, James can't imagine not forgiving Aleks; he was angry, betrayed, but he always wanted it to be him and Aleks at the end. And, it is, kinda.

That's enough for him, for now. As long as he has Aleks.

  
  


*

 

_fin._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you  ♡.
> 
> \- rachel (tumblr is @gavinsaleks if ur interested!!)

**Author's Note:**

> this'll be two chapters!! only one for now but I'm working on the second so won't be too long. a nice break from modesthd because I plotted this out weeks ago and didn't get the chance to write it. hope u liked it!! kudos n comments are always appreciated. 
> 
> & my tumblr is @ohgavins ! 
> 
> \- rachel.


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